


Rosé

by PoisonedMind



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Mario Kart, Reality, Wine, some drunk flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-27 01:16:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15013517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoisonedMind/pseuds/PoisonedMind
Summary: Some nights they will pull out a bottle of wine and load up a game on the TV.





	Rosé

**Author's Note:**

> did i write a drunk dnp fic a couple of weeks ago? yes. did i just write another one. yes. does this say something about me? probably. 
> 
> so. dan’s bday happened and phil [tweeted](https://twitter.com/AmazingPhil/status/1006184350713565186/) his fave pictures of dan from his camera roll, including one of a rather obviously tipsy dan and a nice almost empty bottle of rosé in the background.  
> well, clearly this is what happened. 
> 
> hope you enjoy!

“Yes, yes, yes! Oh my God!” Phil’s shriek is high pitched and probably way too loud considering the time. Dan doesn’t really care because he’s ten seconds away from actually losing to Phil, and to be fair, he’s probably screaming even louder. 

Phil drives over the finish line then, and Dan briefly considers if they should send an apology gift basket to their neighbours tomorrow, but then Phil’s suddenly lunging at him. He ends up on his back on the sofa with Phil on top of him, knees on either side of Dan’s hips and fingers playing with the zip on his grey hoodie. 

“I won!” Phil whoops. Dan rolls his eyes. 

“Barely. Also, I’m handicapped, it doesn’t count.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I am. Having half a bottle of rosé in my blood is a handicap in _Mario_. Read the rules.”

“You know, I do believe drunk driving is illegal,” Phil says and a grin tugs at the corners of his lips as he boops Dan’s nose with his pinky. “And I’m pretty sure the other half of that wine is in my system, mister. So we’re even, and I won. Fair and square, can’t beat the master.” And then Phil leans down and touches his lips to Dan’s, featherlight. 

Dan grips Phil’s face as he tries to sit up again. 

“No. Stay,” he mumbles against his lips, and he can feel Phil smile and give in, opening his mouth.

He tastes like the rosé they have been drinking; alcohol and a hint of red berries, and Dan wonders absentmindedly if he could get drunk just like this, just on Phil. Phil, who moves from Dan’s mouth to his jaw and then his neck, and Dan concludes with a small whimper that yes, he definitely can. 

Phil sighs and slides his hand through Dan’s curls, getting a loose grip and pulling just slightly. His breath is hot and wet and his lips tickle over Dan’s ear as he whispers, “What’s my prize?”

“Prize?” He can’t really focus, not when Phil is this close, this intoxicating. 

“I won,” Phil breathes, “Don’t I get a prize for my efforts?” He kisses Dan’s jaw and finally returns home to his lips. If Dan could, he would push pause on the universe so he could live this moment out forever. He wants to stretch it out and slow it down, this inconsequential moment of slow, slightly clumsy touching, drunken flirting, and lazy, sloppy kisses just because they can, because they have each other and they know it. 

“What do you want?” he whispers, voice hoarse. He takes Phil’s face in his hands again, looks at him. His hair is a mess, strands sticking up in all directions, and Dan cards a hand through it without really thinking. A red flush is covering his pale skin, his lips are wet and pink. Dan lets his thumb touch gently.

“Hmm.” Phil’s eyes slowly travel down to Dan’s lips, where they stay as he says, “You,” his voice low and deep and setting fire to Dan’s heart. He resists the impulse to say _you have me_ and settles for pulling Phil back down to convey his thoughts through his kisses. They’re too complex for words, anyway. 

 

***

 

“I want revenge.”

They’re lying on the sofa, and Phil is playing against some people online, back pressed close to Dan’s chest, their legs tangled together like their hearts are. 

Phil snorts. “Forget it, Howell. I won.”

Dan lets his hand slide slowly down Phil’s chest, sneaking it up under his shirt. 

“Not gonna work,” Phil says. Dan places an open mouthed kiss on his neck and lets his thumb brush over a nipple. He can feel a shiver run through Phil’s body and he can’t help pressing closer as he deliberately plays with the hardening nubs under his fingertips. He’s leaving a trail of wet kisses on Phil’s neck and then he whispers, “All or nothing.”

“You’re the worst person in the world,” Phil whinges, and Dan hears the unmistakable sound of Phil driving off the race track on the screen. He grins and lightly bites down on Phil’s shoulder. 

“I am,” he says. Phil exits the game and connects the second controller. They sit up and Phil hands it to him but he won’t let go, so Dan looks at him and cocks an eyebrow.

“Do your worst, Howell,” Phil says and turns his attention back on the telly.

“Game on, Lester.”

 

***

 

Phil wins. Again.

“Pretty sure I’ve earned my prize now.”

“Fine, whatever. I give up.” Dan waves his hands around, almost hitting Phil in the face. At some point during the game, they ended up standing right in front of the TV, and Dan blames it on the blurry edges to his vision.

“What, did I hear that correctly? You’re giving up?” Phil’s glee is almost palpable, snuggling around Dan, tugging on him. Dan smiles and thinks that letting Phil win was definitely worth it. 

“What do you want, you barbarian?” He asks. And if he’s learned anything from being around Phil for almost ten years it’s that when he cracks out this smirk, Dan is for it. 

“I want a dance.”

A laugh sputters out of Dan.

“What?”

Phil’s eyes are shining and slightly red and Dan’s pretty sure his own are, too. He’s standing in front of Dan with a hand reached out towards him, palm open. 

“Can I have this dance with you, Mr. Howell?”

Dan could cry. Because this man standing before him is so imperfectly perfect and he’s his and Dan is drunk, they both are, it’s the middle of the night and he’s asking Dan to dance with him to the tune of the _Mario Kart_ title menu still glowing on the TV. 

“You’re an idiot,” he says, and he hears the affection he has for Phil nestle in his tone. He grabs Phil’s hand and Phil pulls him close. 

It’s bizarre, honestly. They keep falling into bouts of uncontrollable laughter, Phil steps on Dan’s toes and Dan almost knocks them over once. The music is not made for slow dancing, it’s too upbeat and zany, and they’re not made for slow dancing either, they’re too awkward and clumsy, but they make do, because it’s not about how it looks. Dan couldn’t care less of what this would look like to an outsider. He can feel Phil’s hands resting on his hips and Phil’s breath land on his mouth and, sometimes, when they step on each other’s toes, their noses bump together and they laugh again. 

Phil’s looking at him like Dan’s the answer to the mystery of the universe, like he holds every secret and Phil’s dying to learn. 

He moves his hands up to cup Phil’s face and he bumps their noses together gently.

Phil says, “I love you,” and Dan kisses him.

He can feel Phil’s lips curl into a smirk under his, and he pulls back just far enough to be able to see his face. 

“And I won,” Phil whispers, and Dan smacks his shoulder and says, “I hate you.”

Phil just grins and kisses Dan again. “No, you don’t.” 

It takes an embarrassing amount of willpower for Dan to pull back so they can breathe.

“I do actually. I want a divorce,” he says. 

Phil raises an eyebrow. “We’re not married.” 

“Technicalities.” Dan lets his chin rest on Phil’s shoulder and tightens his grip around his waist. The world is asleep around them, the music is still filling the air with the kooky melody, and there’s a pleasant buzz humming under Dan’s skin. “At least pour me another glass of wine.”

“Ask nicely. I did not raise you to be rude,” Phil says, mock offended.

Dan lets go of Phil and gives him a pointed look. “Please, Philip Lester, love of my sad life, will you pour me another glass of this sweet rosé?”

A small smile is playing in the corners of Phil’s mouth, and Dan wants to kiss it, taste it, to see if it’s as sweet as it looks. So he does.

“Actually, on second thought, I think you’ve had enough,” Phil says against Dan’s lips, and Dan pulls back just slightly.

“Don’t you love me?”

“No. Did I say that to you? I’m sorry.”

“Rude. I take back everything.” Dan pokes Phil’s arm. “Pass me the bottle then, old man.”

Phil lifts an eyebrow.

“Ugh. _Please._ ”

**Author's Note:**

> do i really believe they're as sappy as this irl? absolutely. they're idiots.
> 
> thanks for reading!
> 
> I'm on tumblr too at [bie-lovers](https://bie-lovers.tumblr.com/) if you want to say hi, but no pressure lol.  
> You can also give this fic a cheeky [like or reblog](https://bie-lovers.tumblr.com/post/175150089466/ros%C3%A9) on tumblr if you want to. :)


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